Karl Gunther got out of the taxi as it stopped outside a big apartment-block in one of the residential districts of Munich. He paid the driver and looked up at his employer's windows. Lights were burning. He sighed. There had not really been much chance that she would not be at home, but he had hoped. He went into the building and crossed the lobby to the lift.
His throat was very dry and his heart was thumping as the lift stopped at her floor. Although he knew he should hurry, he walked very slowly along the richly carpeted corridor to her flat, his legs seemingly unwilling to carry him any faster. His hand stayed poised above her bell for several moments before he could summon the resolution to press it.
As usual, she opened the door herself-her maids were given the evening free whenever he was to visit her-and, as usual, he caught his breath at her loveliness. Then his fear of her returned to him and he dropped his eyes.
She stepped aside to let him enter. "Good evening, Herr Gunther."
"Good evening, Fraulein Direktor," he said respectfully. He had learned that it was indispensable to treat her at all times with the full respect due to her as his employer. Once, in the middle of one of his visits, he had used her Christian name; she had made him repent it bitterly.
"You're a little late," she said. "It is unwise to be late."
"Only a very little," he said quickly. "Two minutes."
"Even so. It is unwise to be late. I thought I had already demonstrated that."
"You have, Fraulein Direktor. I'm sorry."
"I must demonstrate it again."
She led the way into the large dimly-lit living-room. She went to a cabinet containing bottles and glasses. She poured out a large glass of schnapps and handed it to him. "Your anaesthetic."
He took it from her with a small bow and drank it at a gulp. Then he began to take off his clothes.
She poured a smaller glass for herself and sipped it while she watched him undress. He folded his clothes and placed them neatly over the back of a chair. When he was quite naked he turned and stood, quite motionlessly, in front of her. His eyes held an expression of strong fear.
She regarded him with admiration, her heart beginning to beat a little faster. He was a very big man, with wide shoulders, a flat stomach and lean hips. Except where he had worn his bathing trunks, his body was deeply tanned.
"All right," she said, and handed him a key. "Go and get them."
He took the key and went to a carved cedar chest. He stooped to unlock it. He opened its lid and took out a number of whips.
"Bring everything," she said. "I'm going to give you a longer whipping tonight because I'm going away tomorrow."
He looked quickly round at her. She laughed as she saw the expression in his eyes. "Oh no," she said, "you're not going to lose your weekly whippings. I'll make up for them when I come back."
"How long will you be away?"
"Five or six weeks. So that means five or six extra whippings when I come back." She sipped her glass of schnapps. "As a matter of fact I should have gone today, but I didn't want to miss your visit this evening."
He bent over the chest and picked up a large variety of flagellation instruments. His back was covered with black, blue and red weals. On his bottom and legs were great livid bruises.
He straightened up, his arms full of the instruments, and came back to her.
"Put them on the divan," she said. "Side by side."
He turned and began to lay the various things-whips, heavy belts, a cat-o'-nine-tails, sprangers, canes, switches, birches-across the width of the divan. She moved up behind him and put her hand between his legs. She caressed the tight bag of his testicles and then put her fingers round his penis. It grew large and hard at once.
"I see you're not so afraid of me," she said.
"I am. I most certainly am."
She squeezed the penis lightly. "This isn't, though. I think I'll have to whip it, too, one of these days. It's impertinent to get as hard as this."
He strained his shoulders back and stretched the muscles of his chest as the sweet sensation ran electrically through his loins. But he did not stop laying the whipping instruments on the divan.
She let go of his penis and stood to one side, looking down at the divan. "Yes, it has become quite a nice collection, hasn't it? Now which shall I begin with this evening?" She reached for one of the whips and drew its lash through her fingers. It was a black whip, a metre long, made of rhinoceros hide. "I think this," she said, and swung it experimentally down on the seat of a chair. It hissed as it fell; it struck the damask cover of the chair with a loud crack.
He jumped involuntarily at the two sounds, and felt his bones turn to water. He laid the last birch on the divan and stood erect. He turned to her slowly.
"It's no use begging you, Fraulein Dir-"
"None whatsoever," she said shortly. "Go and get my boots and black cape."
As he left the room she began to take off her own clothes. He went into her bedroom and opened her wardrobe. He took out a pair of high black leather boots and a floor-length black rubber cape. He ran his hand over the smooth, cool material, remembering the shock he had had when, during his first whipping, he had asked her why she wore them. "I wear the boots," she had replied, looking him in the eyes with cruelty in her own, "because they look brutal-and when I feel brutal they match my mood. As for the cape, I prefer to be naked when I whip someone, but I don't like his blood spattering all over my body. And I shall give you an extra twenty lashes for asking personal questions."
He went back to the living room now with the boots in one hand and the cape in the other, its cool rubber folds touching his naked body pleasantly as he walked. She was standing where he had left her, but now she was quite naked. Again he caught his breath. She had her lovely head tilted slightly to one side and her ash-blond hair caught and played with the light from the table-lamp beside her. She wa s of medium height, with large firm breasts on her well-shaped torso. She had a very small waist, which was the envy of her friends and of all the women who worked for her in the Munich publishing house which she had inherited the previous year from her father; she had slender hips, and legs of such shapeliness that her friends and employees felt something akin to despair when they allowed themselves to look at them. Men called her Munich's most beautiful woman, and fell over themselves to win her favour.
She sat down now, as he approached her, and lifted one of her legs. He put the cape over the back of a chair and knelt at her feet. He slid a boot on to the leg she had lifted. She put it to the floor and stamped lightly until her foot was comfortably home. Then she lifted her other leg. When he had shod her she stood up. She reached for the black whip. He remained in his kneeling position.
"All right," she said. "Kiss them."
He put his lips to the toes of her boots and kissed them. She lifted her whip and lashed it across his bent bottom. The tip of the whip curled round him and bit into a testicle. He gave a sharp cry.
"This is too long," she said. "Get me a shorter one."
He walked on all fours to the side of the divan and took a shorter whip. She swung the one she was holding and hit him neatly across the back of his knees.
"Stay there a moment," she ordered. You're just the right distance away now." She swung the long whip again. It cut across his hack with a loud crack. He cried out with pain. She swung again and hit him across the centre of his buttocks. "Now come and kiss my hoots again," she said. He shuffled back to her, his features contorted, and held the shorter whip up to her. Then he put his lips down to her boots again. He kissed the left one, and then the right one, and then the left one again…
"My slave!" she murmured, and lashed him hard across his shoulders. He cried out, but he did not stop kissing her boots.
"My abject, helpless slave!" she said. Another lash. "My whipping-boy!" She struck him six more times and threw down the whip. Now you can put me in my cape."
Very slowly, with waves of pain coursing through his body, he stood up and reached for her cape. He slipped its long and very full folds over her naked shoulders. She gave a little shiver as the cold rubber fell around her. She turned round and faced him. She took hold of his penis, now small and soft. At her touch, it re-erected immediately.
A burning light shone in her eyes. "My whipping-boy," she repeated softly. "My helpless whipping-boy. He has to do whatever I tell him. He has to come obediently and regularly for his whippings. He has to do whatever terrible things I order him to do. And he cringes under my whips like a thrashed dog. He is absolutely under my thumb, isn't he? He daren't object, he daren't refuse me anything, and he daren't run away, dare he? He is totally in my power, isn't he?"
She frowned as he made no answer, "Isn't he?"
"Yes," he said at once. "He is."
"But this"-she gave his penis a squeeze-"this seems to like the idea of its owner being my whipping-boy. Don't you agree?"
He shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Then why does it jump whenever I touch it? Why does it become harder than a rock? I think it's because it likes you to be whipped. And so-let's get on with the whippings." She gave the penis a tug. "Come on. I'm going to tie you up to the bathroom door."
"Oh God," he murmured. "Please not that again."
"Oh yes," she said, crisply. "That again. Come on." Pulling him by his penis, she led the way to her bedroom. She stopped at a chest of drawers and opened a drawer with her free hand. She took out a length of twine, thin but very strong. She let go of his penis. "Your thumbs, please," she said.
He put his thumbs together and held them out to her. She wound the twine tightly round them several times and made a firm knot.
"I've forgotten the whip," she said. "Go and get it-the long black one."
He went back into the living-room and fetched the whip. When he returned to her, she was standing beside the door that led to her bathroom. She held three very thick books in her hands. She took the whip from him and gave him the books. "Put them down in their position."
He knelt and placed the books, one on top of the other, on the floor in front of the door. Because his thumbs were tied, he was slow and clumsy.
"Good," she said. "We're nearly ready. Now kiss me a little."
He raised his hands and opened the front of her cape. He cupped his hands round her left breast. He bent his head and put his lips to the nipple. He sucked, and played with his tongue, for a few moments. Then he transferred his attentions to her right breast.
She let her head fall hack. She closed her eyes. "Oh, I'm going to flog you so much tonight," she said dreamily. "I hope I don't kill you. I may, one day."
He dropped on to one knee and put his lips to her ash- blond mound. She opened her legs a little. She had begun to breathe very rapidly. He ran his tongue lightly round the edge of her mound and then licked quickly at the lips of her vagina. She gave a flinch of pleasure. He licked lightly round her mound again, and once more flicked his tongue at her vagina lips. She gave a gasp and seized his hair. She pressed his face tightly against her organs. He put his tongue slowly into her passage, withdrew it, and put it again. She began to moan softly. Her legs began to quiver.
Suddenly she pushed him away. "Enough!" she said sharply. "Get up. Go and stand on those books."
With a sigh he straightened up and moved to the bathroom door. He stepped up on the books which he had placed on the floor.
She pulled a chair up beside him and stood up on it with a swooshing rustle of her long cape. "Your hands above your head," she ordered. "High up."
He stretched his arms high above his head. His hands came to the level of a stout hook that had been fixed into the door. She took the ends of the twine that bound his thumbs and tied them tightly round the hook. With another swoosh she stepped down from the chair. "Now kick the books away," she said.
"I can't. I'm standing on them."
"Do as I say."
"I can't, Fraulein Direktor. It's impossible."
"Oh, you are asking for trouble!" She moved a few paces away from him and lifted the long whip. It hissed down with terrible force and cut into the flesh at the back of his knees. He screamed wildly.
"Are you going to kick them away?"
He gave a little hop and kicked with his toes. The books scattered. His body dropped, leaving him hanging by his thumbs from the book above his head. Only the tips of his toes touched the floor. He groaned.
She licked her lower lip. "That's better. Now you can be properly whipped." She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "I'd better gag you. The walls and doors are thick, but you're going to scream a lot, I think. I'll make certain."
She went to the chest of drawers and took out a single sheer-nylon stocking. Then she took out a pair of gossamerlike panties in black silk chiffon with lace edges. She rolled these into a tight ball and came back to the chair. With another frooshing rustle she stepped up on it again. "Open your mouth wide." She stuffed the rolled-up panties into his mouth and tied them in place with the stocking wound round the back of his neck. She stepped down from the chair, regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, and pulled the hood of her cape up over her hair.
"And now, Herr Gunther," she breathed, her chest rising and falling fast, "say your prayers." She picked up the whip and ran its lash through her fingers. She buttoned the collar of her cape. She threw its right-hand folds back over her shoulder so that her whip arm should be unhindered. With her free hand she drew its left-hand folds protectingly across the front of her body. "Say your prayers," she repeated, "because the blood is really going to spatter tonight." She pressed the cool rubber against her breasts and squeezed her nipples through it. "Here come the first hundred."
She raised the long black whip, held it poised for a moment while she aimed, and brought it down across the exact centre of his buttocks with all her force. His skin broke. Blood welled up into the weal. He gave a strangled moan.
She struck again at his buttocks. The whip cut into the same weal. Its impact caused a light shower of blood to fly. Some of it spattered on to the front of her cape. Either in protest or appeal he shook his gagged head wildly.
She laughed happily. "A very good shot, that one. Right on the same place. I wonder whether I can do it again."
Her third lash missed the bleeding weal by only a centimetre or two, and created new blood of its own. Her fourth went very wide. She poised the whip again, narrowing her eyes slightly as she took careful aim. She struck, very hard. The leather hissed through the air. Her aim was very good this time. The whip fell neatly on to the wound of the first two lashes. Blood spattered again over the front of her cape and on to the polished parquet around.
She sighed deeply with pure pleasure. "I'm so glad I didn't go today. You should be very honoured. It'll make me a day late with all my plans and arrangements-and I've lost the price of my aeroplane ticket into the bargain." She lashed him across his shoulders. "You hear that?" Another lash. "That's why you should be honoured." Another lash. "Very-very- very-very-honoured-indeed!" She lashed with all her strength as she spoke each word.
Inside her body, inside her sexual organs, her excitement was raging tumultuously. She felt as though a hundred fingertips, each charged with electricity, were caressing the whole of her sexual nervous system. She knew that an orgasm was beginning to smoulder deep inside her loins; she knew that it would rise and take her in its grip at any moment if she went on with her whipping. She did not want an orgasm so quickly: she wanted to do a lot more whipping first.
She said: "I'll give you a few moments' rest, I'm going to change my whip."
She went back to the living-room. She took a newspaper and opened it wide. She laid it flat on the floor. Then she placed her long blood-wet whip upon it. She moved to the side of the divan and stood gazing down at all the other instruments that were lying there.
She sighed again and stood quite still, waiting for the raging tumult inside her to lessen a little. From the bedroom she could hear the sound of low groans. She tried not to hear them, for they excited her greatly and stimulated the tumult that had come too soon.
She stood there, her lovely head thrown back, her chest rising and falling as though she had been running. The right- hand folds of her cape were still thrown back over her shoulder, revealing the whole of the right-hand side of her lovely body. The creaminess of her skin contrasted sharply with the blackness of the rubber that covered the rest of her. Her stance, with the cape falling to the ground on her left- hand side in full, soft, graceful folds, gave her the appearance of some ethereal goddess from another world.
She felt the smoulder of her orgasm begin to lessen and recede. The tumult was raging less strongly. She knew, though, that her next lash would revive it; she would receive a sensation that would make her senses swim; it would be as though a droplet of ecstasy had been allowed to fall upon an open sexual nerve. And she would have great difficulty in restraining her mounting orgasm.
She had no patience, however, to wait any longer.
She leaned forward over the divan, studying the instruments. After some cogitation she picked up a birch made of long strips of naked whalebone.
She went back into the bedroom.